Ann-Waking

Oh, such hands. Such hands to die for. Hands that could hold a book or hold her heart. Hands strong enough to hurt, but were ever gentle with her, except for when she needed a little more. Persistent and true as her Wife’s very heart. Such rugged grace, with rough fingertips. Long and narrow, so extraordinarily clean any time they touched her, even though she saw Anne oft come home after work with the grit of the day.

Ann knew she should be thinking about the book, and helping with the Stargazer. All she could think about was those little tender circles Anne’s fingers were making at the small of her back. Almost absently. And there was that. Did her wife have any idea the effect such a small caress had on her? It made Ann’s mind go every which way. She felt that simple declaration of her wife’s love, the way she cherished her. The way the woman could make her feel so very wanton in the privacy of their bedchamber. The tip of Ann’s tongue peeked out and touched her upper lip, thinking of the taste of her. The bare salt of her wife’s skin.

Oh, Ann was paying enough attention to laugh at Anne’s joke, for certainly her wife looked nothing like the rotund little stick legged man in the book. And never, she assumed had the writer of the manual ever imagined that a married pair of women would be sorting over his little tome. Mrs. Lister was a person such a one could never ever imagine. There was only one thing that could distract the other Mrs. Lister from her daydreaming, but snap right out of it she did, looking to Anne’s face, with wide brown eyes, and a mouth an almost comically perfect o for a moment. Shocked enough she was only half aware that Anne had her by the elbow now with those beloved fingers.

“A present? For me?” Ann was indeed shocked, but then taken by a thrill that made her pick up her pace. Her fingers linked with Anne’s own to keep her quick feet steady on the stairs, unseen under wide skirts as they went down together. @annelistre

         Down the stairs they rush, hand in hand, as though struck by some wild craze; and from there through the tower’s door and across the courtyard — though even in their shared frenzy, Anne is certain to keep a watchful eye on her wife’s plentiful skirts, lest the wafting fabric catch her feet and bring her to a tumble. Her concerns, however, are unfounded, for they arrive all in one piece at the winding footpath that leads to the chaumière. Here, despite the spring in her step, Anne gentles their pace, enclosing Ann’s hand between both of her own and playing idly with the girl’s delicate knuckles. She examines her features from the corner of her eye, a grin plucking at her lips. How enchanting, to see the snowflakes dawdle through the treetops above and dance upon her beloved’s fair skin, mirroring her freckles in countless pinpricks of icy brilliance! If she is to confess to the truth – though she certainly does not do so readily, and has no inclination to speak it aloud –, she feels almost a kernel of unease about the present she is to give in return; a half-buried nagging grown from the well-known desire to please her darling and secure her happiness above all things. And surely, one would only do one’s duty as a devoted spouse by holding oneself to decent standards of gift-giving! But even so, she may not help the nervous twisting of her heart as she unlocks the door to the chaumière and holds it open for her wife ( who has, after all, set such an extraordinary precedent with her telescope! ).

        “ Well! ” Anne exclaims brightly, striding towards the parcels lying in wait on the small table beside the crackling fireplace, pulling the girl urgently along by her hands. Then, she releases her and takes a half-step back in polite anticipation, fingers twining together before her stomach in an old nervous habit she has never quite managed to shake. “ It could never be as grand as your sky-glass, and is bound to look rather modest in comparison, but – !! It is something we might do together throughout the year, as husband and wife … if you so desire! ” She watches with rapt attention as the wrapping paper comes undone beneath Ann’s explorations, gaze wandering to and fro between the laid-bare presents and the sweet woman’s face, reading her expression with keen relish. There are three surprises to be discovered: a set of watercolours, a hand-written book, and lastly a large mahogany chest holding a variety of seeds and bulbs, each carefully stored in a tightly-sealed jar or a bundle of paper. Of course, Anne can scarce be quiet now: once all is uncovered, she winds a loving arm ‘round her wife’s middle & embarks on a lively explanation.

         “ I know you are fond of botany, and I have every inclination to cultivate your scientific interests as well as your artistic ones. I have assembled these, ” a pointed gesture at the seeds, “ some of them imported from Paris, where they were held in the collection of the Jardin des Plantes. I hope they will be very much to your liking. I thought we might plant them together, when the time has come – and look, I have written them each an entry in the book, with space enough for your own observations. And then, once the flowers are grown, you could use the colours to draw them directly onto the pages, and thus make your own lexicon. I could think of no one better suited for such an endeavour than the two of us combined! We shall spend the nights with our heads in the stars, and the days with our hands in the earth; how does that sound? ”

Ann finds herself gasping before Anne slows their tempo from Vivace to Allegretto, there outside in the snow. The chill feels so fresh on Ann's heated cheeks and décolletage, the line of her dress more risqué than she ever would have thought to sport back at the Crow Nest, but she knew that Anne liked it. And Ann did as well, finding it as freeing as the sprint she'd just been on.

As for Anne's family, they'd barely given it a second look. While her neckline might be well out of Ann's own experience, she supposed it wasn't really so shocking. In fact she herself had crossed young women in town wearing such things oft enough. Still, she was glad to get themselves into the cabin with it's toasty little fire. Ann had already begun to feel the chill in the hand that her Wife was not holding.

Ann stopped at the door taking it all in, including Anne's brisk enthusiasm. There was a sweet hint of awkwardness to the woman in that moment that both surprised and charmed her. For all her Wife's bravado, Anne was still very, very human and not always as certain of herself as she wanted others to think. In Ann's eyes, it was an incredibly brave choice to press forward instead of shrink. Behind it though, lay something young and fragile, or so Ann assumed. She was still getting to know the love of her life.

"Well." Anne broke her line of thought as she pulled her into the room to the table where presents sat waiting for her. Ann felt a sudden excitement that she hadn't really anticipated. Her own family were quite predictable in what they'd always offered her. When it came to Anne, not only did she have not a fathomable thought about what might be laying here before her, but she suspected they would be peculiar and perfect. Anne, however, was busy denying everything and still looking nervous. "It could never be as grand as your sky-glass, and is bound to look rather modest in comparison, but - !! It is something we might do together throughout the year, as husband and wife... if you so desire"

Ann's jaw, somehow both strong and delicate all at once, jut to the left, the cleft in her chin showing in this light. As of course did the impish spark in her sea-blue eyes. For the first time in her life, she tore recklessly at the wrapping paper. Anne was not particularly good at wrapping presents, but that made them all the more precious to her. A laugh bubbled up out of her, enjoying her terrible manners as the paper ripped. She also, shamelessly had started with the largest first.

Small, inarticulate sounds escaped her as she realized the treasures within. It was a wealth of bulbs and seeds! And this marvelous chest would be perfect to store them year after year.

"Oh, Anne!" she exclaimed, then dove into the other packages with the same hungry hurry as she had the first. She had not expected the next large package to be a book, of all things. It was heavily bound, and held a wealth of paper that was so smooth, her eyes closed and a rippling sigh of delight went through her as her hand drew across it. Flipping back the pages to the beginning, there was a gift within that Anne could not possibly imagine how deeply it touched her. Anne's writing. The letters were as dynamic, and edged as her very wife was. She must have given her teachers fits, no matter how intrinsically lovely the lettering truly was. This was certainly something that would fill her with her love every time she opened it.

"Ohh! My love!" was all she could barely say. Anne briskly tucked and arm around her and held her close, telling the story of the things she'd brought and why. Ann always loved her stories, had always been entranced with them. Only now, this story was about her, about them together, and their life as it would lay out before them. The story was as personal as Anne's writing on the page.

Swallowing back tears, knowing she was being silly to want to cry this moment. Ann also wished to thank her wife, oh, her Husband! with all her voice, and she did not have it yet. Knowing what the third present was, it was still so nice to open. It was then that Anne managed to surprise her again. The colorbox was from Windsor & Newton. Teeth grit to contain herself in case she was wrong, Ann turned the catch with fingernail and opened the box. Seeing the colors within, she gasped, and let out that breath with a sigh.

This was no 'Ladies" color pallet made for sweet and bright things alone. This box held in equal measure midnight blues, strong blacks, deepest browns, and even thick purples worthy of royalty. Glad of Anne's arm so possessive around her, Ann closed her eyes yet again to draw the colors up close and smell them. So many happy memories of days at her paints, and these quite a nice and abundant set.

It was that moment that she knew exactly what she first wanted to paint with her wealth of smooth paper, and fresh colors. Eyes flying open, she turned to Anne. The thrill in herself made her open her mouth and briefly touch the tip of her tongue to her sharpest tooth as she thumped the colors down on the table, her eyes set on Anne's beautiful browns. She took Anne's face in her hands. "Thank you. I . . . thank you!"

Pulling at Anne's face, she brought it to her own and pressed their lips together, hard and true as the gratefulness in her heart. Ann's eyes were closed now, and she held Anne's head quite firmly so as to kiss her more, lips sliding a little to find all the smooth and the edge of her Husband's lips. So warm. So firm. It was a secret between them how delicate the woman's mouth really was. Ann pulled back a moment, only to kiss twice the fullness of Anne's lower lip. She pulled back further to see her then.

Ann could not have borne to have her secrets exposed by letting Bette, her maid, help her undress. The shame of it would have made Ann wish to die again almost as much as she had wanted to when Father Henahan pressed himself so terribly upon her. For Anne, though, she would live. Anne whose tender hands worked her loose of this hated dress, uncovering where her hurts were. Ann kept hold the cup in her hands, swallowing another mouthful. She could feel it burn warm down her throat to pool heavy in her stomach. Anne’s voice was warmer still than the drink, and even more intoxicating with what way her pain and empathy were clear. One of Anne’s hands touched a sore spot on her back, such tenderness was welcome and Ann felt even less alone.

In fact, Anne did not miss the smallest detail of her pain, coming in so tenderly where she knelt, her lips pressing to Ann’s every tear. Her wife’s question had taken her aback for a moment, but then she realized of course Anne would ask about each mark as she found it. The implications were unsettling.

“Th-the windowsill. In the window seat.” She said, no more than a whisper. Yes, she remembered how the sill, just right for leaning one’s elbow on, had pressed so cruelly into her back as the Priest had pressed her there. As for where she hurt most, she could not answer that yet and instead simply stood. It was easier to answer the next question instead.

“Yes, please, get me loose of it all.”

And of course Anne would. From all of what was uncovered under all her layers beneath her skirts, there was not a bruise or even a red mark. How certainly such would have shown on Ann’s cream-pale skin. Not even the last layers of her small clothes hid anything. What did show was a small drop of blood that drew a sudden line down the outside curve of one of her breasts. It was coming from behind her ear, and had finally dripped it’s way down one curl. The shell of her other ear would show to be rather purpled.

Whatever Anne said next, Ann opted to not yet hear it over what seemed to be a rush of wind.

“My robe … please!” her voice cracked and she sniffed back tears, only then to brush them away with the back of her arm, hiding her eyes. The glass in her hand fell to the floor.

Now exposed, it was clear all the damage was on her arms, her face, and her neck where hand prints and red marks showed. Even the lips that had been so pale before in her distress were starting to pink up darkly.

         Her WIFE — shoved about, grabbed by the hair, bruised around the mouth, the shell of one delicate ear purpled with the echo of brute force! Each new discovery brings further slaps of pain, tightening Anne’s chest around a raging pulse. Yet relief, too, sinks its tiny, hopeful roots into her heart as she locates no further traces of greedy hands and mindless  violence beneath Ann’s petticoats. Here, under skirts and stockings, her fair skin seems unblemished by the barbarism that marks her face and back. Anne strokes away the trail of half-dried blood with a gentle thumb and, in one quick motion, drapes the cream-coloured dressing gown around her wife’s abused form. “ There – ” The silken belt is tied dutifully around Ann’s middle; and not a moment too soon, for a shy knock at the door announces that the bath has been prepared.

        “ Come along then, Adney. This will do you good, ” Anne ventures, voice firm in a valiant attempt to inspire courage, and grasps her wife’s hands in her own, guiding her carefully around the shattered glass on the floorboards. She opens the door to reveal a rather sheepish maid. Once more, it repels her to think how the mistress of Crow Nest was delivered to evil by her very household staff, boneless onlookers cowering to an assailant’s vile, undeserved authority. She shall be certain to remember the disloyalty. Her tone takes on a colder edge upon addressing the maid. “ Would you clean up the bedroom, ” she commands, “ and pack Miss Walker’s clothes and personal belongings for her stay at Shibden. ” Then, winding an arm around Ann’s middle, she leads the poor, shaken girl away to the washing room. Some warmth and a thorough scrubbing will surely rouse her spirits a little!

        The bathtub welcomes them with swirling tendrils of steam. Towels, soaps and oils are laid out on a low table beside the tub, waiting amidst flacons of perfume and a tin of the pain-soothing salve Anne has rubbed into the girl’s aching shoulders many a time. Good. The remedy will be useful. Away from the eyes of the servants, Anne envelops her darling in an adoring embrace, cupping the back of her head in a protective palm.

        “ Once you are able to travel a little, we shall go to Shibden at once, ” she decides, confident as always in the uncontended validity of her expertise. “ Let the men bring your books and watercolours and whatever else you need. You won’t have to be alone again, EVER. Nor will you have to face that … excuse for a sentient creature again. He may say what he likes in mitigation of his depravity, but he won’t be pardoned, he won’t be allowed to inflict his power upon you in future. ” ( Or anyone else. )

         Anne untangles their embrace with a kiss to Ann’s nose-tip, the tiniest smile softening the harshness of her speech. For a moment, resting her palm on the girl’s freckled cheek, she stands in silent wonder at her sweet one’s eternal strength — then, she ducks away to plunge her hand wrist-deep into the bathwater. The temperature is suitable enough: a balmy warmth that will soothe Ann’s pitiably mistreated flesh. She extends an inviting arm towards her wife. “ Here. Let me help you undress again, if you like. ”

Had she even known herself what she was seeking? No. Not until Anne came for her. Giving her directions to her own heart; showing her new horizons. Ever carrying her over the rough roads of her life. Since they'd met, those dark days that sometimes permeated Ann's very soul had always been found by the guiding light that was Anne. Showing her the way out. Showing the way back. Reminding her that there was so much to live for. Anne was everything to live for.

This very moment all was blackness except for Anne who came to her, breaking through, shining like starlight.

"Oh - Pony!" She said with a sob and a gasp, finding she could start to breath again. Anne would not leave her now, even though perhaps she should, and instead was holding her hands and drawing her carefully away from the glass Ann would have no doubt walked through in knowing self punishment. Perhaps so that she could hide away and have an excuse not to rise from the bed for days. Perhaps so that someone would see the pain on her flesh even if they could not see the pain in her soul.

But Anne could see her. Anne could always see her.

Ann clung to those strong hands that held her own. There was a strange turbulence inside her. Though flashes like broken nightmares of what had just happened battered at her with vivid recollection, every moment of the present was like coming up for air. For Anne was there. Knowing what to do, and doing it for her.

Not alone. Never again alone. Anne was her Wife now, and would never leave her.

"Shibden?" Ann whispered softly with hope in her voice, praying she'd heard her Wife correctly as reality flickered between the past and the present. It was then that some dawn came into the starlight blackness around her, for Anne was listing all the things that would be brought along. All her things. This would be no visit. Anne was making it her home. For always. Ann had known this when they married, but in the darkness, she'd almost forgotten.

When she felt Anne's arms around her though, she knew it fully was the truth. Her Wife was so ardent and gentle all at once, as only she could be, holding her there with no other eyes to see. Yes, Ann was breathing and breathing again, the scents of heated copper and her favorite soaps reaching her. That and the brisk, clean outdoor wind that clung to Anne's hair and blouse. Ann curled her face in close, drawing in that certain scent that was only Anne, there with her nose near pressed against the place between her neck and her shoulder.

"Shibden." She whispered again with more certainty this time as Anne cradled her head, as if knowing the true pain was there in her mind and not so much her body. Helping hold away those dark flashes.

Just before Ann grew tired of standing, Anne was letting her go. It was as equally healing to see that face before her. Those hard and delicate angles. The depth of her dark eyes. When Anne dipped in close to kiss the end of Ann's nose, something between a small laugh and a sob came out of her.

It seemed suddenly such a loving and natural thing that her Wife turned then to check the water for her, that Ann felt a moment of clarity. She herself untied her robe and let it spill down to her feet. Still without words, it was easy enough to reach out for Anne's arms knowing that she'd be held steady to step into the warm water that called to her. Oh . . .to wash herself clean of his touch.

That thought brought back another wave of dark reliving, but she knew Anne would steady her none the less, and half blind, she stepped over and in to the bath that awaited her.

The heat of it up first one leg then the other brought her back to the now again. Yes. Anne was still near. As near as a person could be, as though to surround her in a halo of safety. There was no place safer. Still holding on tight, a small groan escaping her for the heat, she settled herself down into the water. Yes. It brought her back, and for a moment, there was only Anne and the bath.

Anne.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked, wildly searching those dark eyes with her own. How could she have forgotten how her wife had fought him for her.

“I should love that as well, my Dearest.” Anne’s bright smile brought a smile to her own face that no one else on Earth could provoke.

She would not say that Anne had been clumsy climbing the stairs with her burdens, but perhaps in that mad dash she had seemed all knees and elbows. But here was her wife, just moments later, so delicate and deft as she put her prize together. The contrast made her raven haired love all the more endeared to her. Ann was feeling a wave of thrill herself to see the whole mechanism take shape, it was something she had been dreaming about ever since she sent away for it. So far, it was all even better than she had imagined, especially Anne’s unbridled reaction. Best of all, the woman had a way of making her feel deeply a part of the event, even though she was just standing there watching.

“I didn’t know there were any lady Astronomers.” Ann said, the words coming out with a bit of a laugh, trying to imagine her Aunt Ann allowing for such a thing much less permitting a book written by one anywhere near the library at Crow’s Nest.

“What would one write about the skies anyway, other than how lovely they are?” She asked, and of course Anne had the answer, as she always seemed to have about nearly everything. It was one of her wife’s traits that had first drawn her in. So many stories about the world, and with which what poetry she told them, wide eyed and wonderful.

“When you write about our comet, you must spell it for yourself sometimes, and mine for others, that way it will be both of ours.”

Ann was thinking about her love spending her free time cataloging the heavens and was just about to be jealous when Anne put a hand to her backside. The ultimate of reassurances, even if it made Ann start for just a moment. Instantly she felt her cheeks heat from such a casually placed small fondling. What a rogue Anne was! And how it delighted her.

“How am I to read when you’re this way?” Grinning she shook a shaming finger at her wife in jest, and took a step away from that beloved hand to catch up the thick little book. Luckily there was a woodcut of the assembled Seeker right on the first page with a poor semblance of a man bending to look through it.

“Rightly done it seems.” Book still in her hand, Ann took a step back toward her wife, caught the sweet wedge of the woman’s jaw in her free hand tugging her down a little and meeting half way between their heights as she went half up on her toes to plant a quick kiss on Anne’s lips to take any sting from the way she was about to tease her. Still the twinkle in her eyes showed she was quite pleased with herself.

“But apparently you’re supposed to be a man.” she said, showing Anne the page.

        “ Hmm. ” A man, indeed?! One brow quirked in silent scepticism, Anne bends to inspect the illustration indicated by her wife’s teasing gesture. No — neither of them, she supposes, show the merest semblance to the ill-postured, spindly-legged figure displayed on the page, paragon of gentlemanly science and solitary, wifeless explorations. And how LUCKY they are for such small mercies! Anne’s gaze catches the former Miss Walker’s mischievous, twinkling one, drenched in amusement as it is. The little imp! She delivers a reproachful pinch to the girl’s backside, hoping to elicit a squeal.

        “ Well. If the author thinks that I am going to let such trifles stop me, he is sorely mistaken. — I’ve done plenty of things as well as any man could … and some, I’ve been told, FAR  BETTER. ” Here, her hand remains a suggestive presence on the small of Ann’s back, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips. “ Now! Let us see. ” Book propped in her wife’s grasp, Anne flips efficiently through the small-printed pages: assemblage, positioning, alignment with the celestial bodies, charts of the night-sky throughout the seasons, longitudes and latitudes - all easily understood, even to an amateur stargazer. A minute ticks by as they study the introduction, heads tucked closely together in scholarly silence, Anne’s thumb stroking affectionate circles over her wife’s delicate spine. Isn’t she blessed, to know herself in the company of one who supports her every passion and venture? Ah! But that reminds her! Impatience rouses her spirits, and she snaps the book shut at once, rapping a curt knuckle upon its front cover to knock some zest into their devotional contemplations.

         “ Now! We’ve plenty of time left till nightfall; oughtn’t we take a look at YOUR present? ” The tome of instructions is snatched from Ann’s grasp and thrown decisively onto the armchair, for her wife’s hands suit Anne’s tastes best when they are free to be held and caressed. It is entirely novel to her, a Christmas of joy and togetherness spent NOT locked away into her bedroom, brooding over the New Testament with a cup of tepid tea and a sad bit of Banbury cake on the side, but instead in the bright pursuit of delight. Yet another happiness brought on by the merry wind of change she calls her bride! And tomorrow, in church, they shall link their fingers under the book of prayers as they join into the hymns, hiding their entwined hands in the copious folds of Ann’s skirts. Anne smiles as she pulls the girl gently along by her elbow, heart light and feathery with pleasure. “ Come! It’s waiting for you in the chaumière. ”

Ann knew she should be thinking about the book, and helping with the Stargazer. All she could think about was those little tender circles Anne's fingers were making at the small of her back. Almost absently. And there was that. Did her wife have any idea the effect such a small caress had on her? It made Ann's mind go every which way. She felt that simple declaration of her wife's love, the way she cherished her. The way the woman could make her feel so very wanton in the privacy of their bedchamber. The tip of Ann's tongue peeked out and touched her upper lip, thinking of the taste of her. The bare salt of her wife's skin.

Oh, Ann was paying enough attention to laugh at Anne's joke, for certainly her wife looked nothing like the rotund little stick legged man in the book. And never, she assumed had the writer of the manual ever imagined that a married pair of women would be sorting over his little tome. Mrs. Lister was a person such a one could never ever imagine. There was only one thing that could distract the other Mrs. Lister from her daydreaming, but snap right out of it she did, looking to Anne's face, with wide brown eyes, and a mouth an almost comically perfect o for a moment. Shocked enough she was only half aware that Anne had her by the elbow now with those beloved fingers.

Gentleman Jack

“Yes. Please.” She said in a voice that quavered between the grateful and the adamant, all verging on tears. Carefully cradling the crystal goblet in her hands, she turned and gave Anne her back. Oh, how part of her had wanted to tear the whole dress off herself in Anne’s absence. Ann had indeed gotten out of the bed and tried to do the job herself, but had only managed to half-loose from the sleeve that was already torn. That had started her to tear at her hair instead. but her wife had come to the door and Ann had stopped. Anne was back, and she was no longer alone.

For once she did not complain about how the alcohol burned. She wanted it to burn. She also wanted to be in her cups. Anne would take care of her. Anne would make everything all right. Somehow.

Her tears fell off her chin and into her glass between sips. Ann was not sobbing at all, barely a hitch of breath now that Anne was near, but there was no stopping this wave of tears that tracked down her burning cheeks.

       Slowly, ever so cautiously, the bow comes undone beneath Anne’s gentle ministrations, the slippery bands of satin falling away to either side of Ann’s waist. Never before, neither in moments of greatest passion nor consummate hurry, has Anne made so bungled a job of undressing a lady: her fingertips, suddenly colossal in their gracelessness and ponderosity, fight a vain battle against the tiny dress hooks that run along the spine of her wife’s gown, till she is forced to admit defeat. Oh, calm yourself! A deep breath through her nose, a quick clench of her hands to shake some life into her cumbersome digits, then she tries anew: delicately, mindfully unclasping each little hook and untying every ribbon. She guides the girl’s bruised arms out of the maze that are her sleeves, one at a time, leaving small kisses on both of her shoulders and the pallid nape of her neck. She eases the glistening fabric of the dress away from Ann’s middle, lets it pool loosely around her hips, and embarks on unlacing the stiff corset that is her wife’s final armour against unmitigated exposure.

        Anne’s heartbeat is a foul-tasting weight upon the tip of her tongue. What sweetness, what innocent pleasure they each used to draw from so intimate a disrobement! And how it pains them now! The wretch, the miserable beast, to terrorise her darling in this most soulless of manners, and strike her with fear of her own corporeal form. Even a maggot would know better decency! After the corset comes Ann’s woollen undershirt, whose removal bares an angry red line punched into the girl’s flesh: the edge of a bookshelf, perhaps, though it may as well have been the strike of a sword for all the agony the sight causes her. Anne rubs a loving palm along the imprint in a forlorn attempt to soothe the sting before she kneels once more by her wife’s feet, kissing at her silent tears in the futile, desperate manner of a failed protector.

In fact, Anne did not miss the smallest detail of her pain, coming in so tenderly where she knelt, her lips pressing to Ann's every tear. Her wife's question had taken her aback for a moment, but then she realized of course Anne would ask about each mark as she found it. The implications were unsettling.

"Th-the windowsill. In the window seat." She said, no more than a whisper. Yes, she remembered how the sill, just right for leaning one's elbow on, had pressed so cruelly into her back as the Priest had pressed her there. As for where she hurt most, she could not answer that yet and instead simply stood. It was easier to answer the next question instead.

"Yes, please, get me loose of it all."

And of course Anne would. From all of what was uncovered under all her layers beneath her skirts, there was not a bruise or even a red mark. How certainly such would have shown on Ann's cream-pale skin. Not even the last layers of her small clothes hid anything. What did show was a small drop of blood that drew a sudden line down the outside curve of one of her breasts. It was coming from behind her ear, and had finally dripped it's way down one curl. The shell of her other ear would show to be rather purpled.

Whatever Anne said next, Ann opted to not yet hear it over what seemed to be a rush of wind.

"My robe . . . please!" her voice cracked and she sniffed back tears, only then to brush them away with the back of her arm, hiding her eyes. The glass in her hand fell to the floor.

“It is all my pleasure.” She said, knowing that she was smiling much more widely than was courtly, but with Anne, she could be herself.

Her wife’s praise had warmed her through with near the same intensity that her hot little kisses had. Her exquisite partner’s reaction to the stand, her total focus, made Ann’s jaw drop just a little. She knew that enraptured look, but mostly she’d she’d seen it directed to her own form. Clothed or unclothed. A wonder and desire. In fact, the way she held the telescope with such possessive tenderness was recognizable as well.

Was that why members of the town had their conclusions about them? Is this what people saw in Anne’s eyes when she looked at her? What they saw in the way she touched her when she handed her out of a carriage or the way she tended to her when they went to town together? No doubt Ann herself gave forth such unshrouded clues as well, she realized.

Anne was a joy to watch, Ann bubbled up with laughter as the woman turned to her, her gifts a clutch in her arms with haste and insisted they leap immediately into it. That in itself was the icing on the cake. She knew her love had much work to do as she always did. But right now, this gazer from the glazier was taking full precedence.

It was clear from Anne’s struggles with her burdens that she was not willing, even for the sake of dignity, to make two trips. She herself plucked the book up from the case. Ann was glad for Anne to carry the rest. Between skirts and stairs, she certainly would have dropped something or tripped herself. It was joyful challenge enough to keep up with Anne (in her much more sensible skirts for such things) as she launched them on their quest, Ann just able to keep ahead of keys and doors, book tucked tight under her arm.

Was this with what speed her wife usually gamboled? It was a charming thought.

Across and up, and up they went until Ann was panting a little against her corset. At the last door with a lock she beamed back at Anne.

“The catalog said that for any serious hobbyist or scientist, a sturdy stand was a must. I’ve never known you to do anything by half, my love.”

Soon they were in the library, with Anne looking at her with such certainty that she must know something about all this. Well, she didn’t and her quick breath took on a bit of a laugh. It was an easy laugh. She knew her wife loved her exactly as she was.

“I know you look through the little end.”

Then she tilted her head with a thought.

“And that I had a dream about looking at the moon.”

         “ The moon! Well! I believe we shall track her down easily enough, if we put our minds to it! ” Oh, what WOULD she do without her ridiculous wife? What dreadful sadnesses would she succumb to in the absence of that pearly smile and teasing spirit? Laughter tinges Anne’s breath as she sets her hands to work on the star-gazing glass, fitting it snugly into the stand’s possessive grip and aligning it most conscientiously with the aid of the walnut-sized compass laid into the brass.

        “ I should LOVE to watch the moonset with you in the early-morning hours, ” she enthuses, glancing up shortly to catch a beauteous eyeful of the sweet girl’s beaming face and midday-blue eyes. Ah, ah – !! She must not, under any circumstances and despite her excitement, forget to surprise her wife with her own Christmas present —— but later, surely! The day is rich in hours still, they needn’t hurry!

         “ Do you recall the works of Caroline Herschel? The great woman astronomer? ” Anne presses on whilst she extends the telescope to its full length, fingers quite as busy as her speech, pausing only to throw open the window for the refractor’s curious gaze. “ She had a habit, I think, to sweep the firmament for comets — long strips of sky meticulously searched and recorded. I’ve a copy of her notes somewhere in the bedroom library. Oh, we MUST try to find a comet of our own or two … and name them after you, my darling, sponsor of sciences! ”

        At last, with a certain most adequate bravado, Anne uncovers the fragile, diamond-bright lens, tossing the protective leather cap onto a chair and stepping to the girl’s side for a critical examination of her efforts. “ Hmm. ” Her hand finds the small of Ann’s back, and then, by sheer marital instinct, the beloved curve of her bottom through the plentiful skirts. “ Does this look right? What does your book think? ”

She would not say that Anne had been clumsy climbing the stairs with her burdens, but perhaps in that mad dash she had seemed all knees and elbows. But here was her wife, just moments later, so delicate and deft as she put her prize together. The contrast made her raven haired love all the more endeared to her. Ann was feeling a wave of thrill herself to see the whole mechanism take shape, it was something she had been dreaming about ever since she sent away for it. So far, it was all even better than she had imagined, especially Anne's unbridled reaction. Best of all, the woman had a way of making her feel deeply a part of the event, even though she was just standing there watching.

"I didn't know there were any lady Astronomers." Ann said, the words coming out with a bit of a laugh, trying to imagine her Aunt Ann allowing for such a thing much less permitting a book written by one anywhere near the library at Crow's Nest.

"What would one write about the skies anyway, other than how lovely they are?" She asked, and of course Anne had the answer, as she always seemed to have about nearly everything. It was one of her wife's traits that had first drawn her in. So many stories about the world, and with which what poetry she told them, wide eyed and wonderful.

"When you write about our comet, you must spell it for yourself sometimes, and mine for others, that way it will be both of ours."

Ann was thinking about her love spending her free time cataloging the heavens and was just about to be jealous when Anne put a hand to her backside. The ultimate of reassurances, even if it made Ann start for just a moment. Instantly she felt her cheeks heat from such a casually placed small fondling. What a rogue Anne was! And how it delighted her.

"How am I to read when you're this way?" Grinning she shook a shaming finger at her wife in jest, and took a step away from that beloved hand to catch up the thick little book. Luckily there was a woodcut of the assembled Seeker right on the first page with a poor semblance of a man bending to look through it.

"Rightly done it seems." Book still in her hand, Ann took a step back toward her wife, caught the sweet wedge of the woman's jaw in her free hand tugging her down a little and meeting half way between their heights as she went half up on her toes to plant a quick kiss on Anne's lips to take any sting from the way she was about to tease her. Still the twinkle in her eyes showed she was quite pleased with herself.

"But apparently you're supposed to be a man." she said, showing Anne the page.